My Boys
by Colbie15
Summary: Bobby's perspective of the events in season 2's All Hell Breaks Loose. Spoilers for both parts of AHBL. Light spoilers through season 5. One-shot.
As soon as I heard Dean's voice, I knew something was wrong. From his panic, I knew it had to be about Sam.

"A demon's taken him, Bobby."

Being the son of a hunter – especially being the son of the hunter known as John Winchester – Dean learned from an early age to lock down his emotions so he could get the job done. I could tell he was trying his best to do that now, but the fear crept out as he told me about the dead bodies in a diner, sulfur on the door, and Sam nowhere to be found.

"We've got to find him," Dean pleaded.

I promised Dean we would even though I had a real bad feeling about the whole thing. When a demon is after you, there ain't many places you can hide. Sam had been marked since he was six months old. Not even two days after Dean called me, we did find him – and only moments too late.

That kid didn't deserve to die like that. And Dean. Well, I just didn't know if he can take losing someone else.

We searched for a couple of days with no leads until Dean got that vision. I knew just where to look. When we saw found Sam, I thought for a second that everything would be okay. The kid looked like he had been through the wringer, but he was alive and well enough. Relief washed over him when he saw us. I could hear Dean next to me breathe out that sigh he had been holding since Sam disappeared. Then that kid dressed in army fatigues stepped up behind Sam and plunged a knife into his back. Dean's warning came a second too late and we were too far away to stop it. I swear it all happened in slow motion.

While Dean took off running for Sam, I took off after the attacker. I knew Dean would take care of his brother. He always had. I couldn't let the man get away after what he had done to Sam.

But that soldier had been too fast for my old legs. My lungs felt like they would explode. I stopped to catch my breath, trying to decide whether to go after the attacker or go back to Sam. When I heard Dean screaming Sam's name, I knew it wasn't good. I turned back hoping it wasn't as bad as I feared.

I guess I still had some hope as I jogged back to the boys – my boys. Until I saw Dean holding Sam's lifeless body with his head buried in Sam's shoulder. My knees felt weak as I forced myself to keep moving toward them.

Damn it.

The scene before me blurred as tears filled my eyes. I gave Dean a few minutes to grieve over his brother and maybe to brace myself to face losing the boy that I practically raised.

I remembered the first time John brought those boys to my house. I don't recall what he was hunting – I just remember not being able to say no when he asked me to watch the boys – just for a couple of days, he said.

Dean couldn't have been more than 7 or 8 years old. Already he had a defiant look in his eyes like he had been dumped on too many people while he father went God knows where. And little Sammy hung close to his big brother.

I was astonished by way Dean watched after his little brother. Whenever Sam needed something – anything – Dean was there. Both were wary of the old geezer who was supposed to be looking after them. If truth be told, I wasn't too excited about the prospect either. But they needed someone, and I guess it had to be me this time.

I offered them bologna sandwiches and looked around the fridge for something appropriate to drink for little boys. I had too much damn beer and not much else. Neither complained when I set glasses of water before them.

They both looked like they could fall asleep where they sat. Most of the spare rooms in my house were full of books or weapons or junk of some kind, so I didn't have a place for them to sleep. I made them a couple of pallets on the floor. Sammy fell asleep right away. Dean didn't even lie down until he knew his little brother was settled in.

"You're safe here," I told the stubborn oldest boy. "I promise." I wondered what kind of father would put his children through this. But I had killed my own wife because she had been possessed by a demon, so who was I to judge. I knew better than anyone the danger in the world and John wanted to make sure his sons were prepared for it. I couldn't fault him for that. The only thing I could do was take care of these kids while they were here.

Dean looked at me for a long moment apparently trying to determine if he could trust me. After a minute or two, he evidently decided he could. He lied down by his brother and fell into a deep sleep. The poor kid was exhausted. He didn't even hear Sammy crying from a bad dream.

Sam was more trusting than Dean, even then. He let me pick him up and carry him to a chair just across the room. As long as Dean was in sight, he was okay with it.

"You want to tell me about it," I asked Sam.

"Monsters," was all he said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Monsters are scary things."

Then the damnedest thing happened. The little boy leaned against my chest and fell asleep again. He trusted me that much. I had a little taste of what I had been missing by not having kids around the house. Worried that he would wake again, I held him for most of the night.

Dean woke up with a start a few hours later, almost panicking when he saw his little brother missing. He released a shaky breath when he saw Sam sleeping in my lap.

"He had a bad dream," I explained.

"He has those," Dean answered, sounding much older than he should have. Something in his eyes told me I had his trust, too. He seemed relieved to have someone help him watch after Sammy. John had put too much responsibility on Dean's shoulders at such an early age. In time, I learned that Dean always accepted it without complaining, but it wore on him. I decided that perhaps I did have the right to judge John Winchester just a little.

So many years later, these boys were like my own. I stood in the rain in a ghost town in South Dakota watching Dean holding on to Sam with everything he had. When he showed no sign of moving, I put my hand on his shoulder. "Come on, son. Let's get him inside."

It nearly broke me the way Dean looked up at me – tears staining his face. He didn't say anything as he laid Sam to the ground, grabbing him under his shoulders while I took his legs. Sam was a big guy and he weighed more than he looked. I was again reminded of my age as I helped carry him into the nearest house.

We put Sam on an old bed with a mattress that probably could tell a few tales. But it was better than leaving him in the rain. Dean gave a long glance to his brother and, without a word, he turned and left. Knowing that boy as I do, I figured he needed a minute alone, so I let him walk out without even asking where he was going. He was gone a few minutes – just long enough to find that bottle of bourbon that must have been in the trunk of his car.

After taking a few swigs straight out of the bottle, he sat and watched Sam for hours. I don't know what Dean was thinking. Every now and then, I would see more tears escape his eyes. He would wipe them away and stare at his brother some more. I had to wipe my own eyes a few times as I thought about the first time Sam stayed with me without Dean.

John thought Dean needed more experience on a hunt. He was all of 13 years old. The boy jumped the gun on their last hunt and almost had gotten himself killed. I knew that John was worried about how Dean could handle the evil in the world, but he was still just a kid. I had to wonder why he couldn't learn that lesson maybe a few years down the road.

To me, Dean was an impressive hunter for his age. He already knew how to use a myriad of weapons in John's arsenal. He probably could have beaten the crap out of me if he wanted to. He was quick on his feet and had an intuition about him that I saw in few adult hunters. Most of all, he was eager to please his dad. Though he was far too impulsive and had to learn to tone that down.

As much of a natural that Dean was at hunting, Sam was as gifted in research. Of course, John had begun to teach him how to fight and shoot, and a little bit about the lore. John asked me to research the monster they were hunting – a wendigo, if I remember correctly. Sam was full of questions, so I showed him my books and told him where I looked to find answers. He made a trip with me to the library in town and helped him sort through some of the information I found.

He was a smart kid and a deep thinker. I could see it the first time I met him. It saddened me to know that the most he would do with that brain was research the evil things that lurked in the night. I was secretly pleased years later when I heard that Sam had run off to college. John was as mad as a hornet, and Dean was just plain heartbroken. Dean asked me once how to get him to quit Stanford and come home. These boys never had a home, so Dean meant he wanted Sam to come back to him.

"Don't," I counseled. "He's out, Dean. Let him stay out and live a good, long life so he can use that mind of his for something good."

Dean didn't talk to me for a long time after that, but he must have listened to me. I later heard he didn't try to contact Sam for another two years. He threw himself into hunting, alcohol and women – until John disappeared. When I learned about Sam's girlfriend dying the way his mother had died, I knew that boy would never really be out.

Looking at him lying there on that old cot, it seemed that I was right.

I glanced over at Dean, who was staring – not at Sam or anything in particular. Just staring. The sun had risen and was already climbing high in the sky. I figured it had been at least a couple of days since Dean had eaten anything.

He nodded absently when I said I needed to get a few things. We had been so secluded in that old ghost town, I needed to see if the world was still standing. After what had happened, I wouldn't have been surprised if the apocalypse happened while we were here mourning Sam. I didn't need to tell Dean not to go anywhere. As long as Sam was here, I knew he wouldn't.

By the time I got back, Dean was standing – still staring – with a look of utter despair on his face. Since John told him that he needed to save Sam or kill him, Dean did everything he could to make sure it was the former. He told me more than a few times that he intended to save him, no matter what. It must have torn him apart that he couldn't do it.

Dean didn't give a second glance to the bucket of chicken I brought and said he was fine. He was far from fine, but I guess he wasn't hungry either. Neither was I. The knot in my stomach twisted as I looked again upon the boy who died too young.

"Dean, I hate to bring this up. I really do. Don't you think it's time to bury Sam," I said as gently as I could. I did hate to say it. More than Dean could know. But it was unhealthy for Dean to be holding on to him like that. The look he gave me was cold and hard.

"I thought that we could maybe …."

"What," Dean retorted bitterly. "Torch his corpse? Not yet."

"I want you to come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere." His tone was belligerent and unrelenting.

My concern for that boy kicked into high gear. This was worse than when John died. He was sullen and withdrew deep in himself, but he accepted his Dad's death. "Dean, please …."

"Why don't you cut me some slack?"

"I just don't think you should be alone. That's all." No response. So I hoped that maybe he would take his grief out on that demon that caused all of this. I needed to get him out of himself and concentrate on something else. "I gotta admit I could use your help. Something big is going down. End of the world big."

That got a response but not the one I was expecting. "Then let it end!" he shouted at me.

He didn't mean that, and I told him so. But he said he had given enough and he was done with hunting. When he told me to get out, I didn't budge. How could I leave him like that – bitter, hostile, and heartbroken?

"Go!" he screamed as he pushed me away. I honestly didn't know what to do next. His anger melted back into despair as he apologized for shoving me. "Please, just go."

So I left. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. But I figured that if I left him alone with Sam, maybe he would find a way to come to terms with losing him. I couldn't have been more wrong.

When Dean showed up at my house, Sam by his side, I knew immediately what he had done. As happy as I was to see Sam on two feet again, I was just as terrified by how he got there. Dean couldn't even look at me as Sam was thanking me for patching him up. I knew enough to go along with it. But once I got Dean outside alone, the gloves came off.

"I could throttle you!" I yelled.

"And send me downstairs ahead of schedule." Dean was trying to act like it was nothing, giving me a cocky smile. But I could see it in his eyes – he was scared. After I lit into him some more, he finally crumbled, saying he wasn't even supposed to be here. He thought he should've die a year before when John made a bargain to save Dean.

"I couldn't let him die, Bobby," Dean said, all bravado gone now. "He's my brother."

When he begged me not to tell Sam, I crumbled too. I couldn't be mad at the boy. He always wanted to be like his father. I guess he had done this like his father, too. I patted his face, wondering how in the hell I was going to get him out of this.

Looking back, I see now that it was all planned out for those boys. Dean ended up right where those demons wanted him and so did Sam – into the arms of that demon bitch. And though it was rough going for a while, they defeated those forces that wanted to destroy them and the world. Those boys who grew up without a mother and without a home turned out brave and strong.

Looking back all these years later, I couldn't be more proud that John dropped those boys off at my house that day because maybe I can take just a little of the credit for how they turned out. They may not be my sons, but they are my boys because family doesn't end in blood.


End file.
